Hello there, the angel from my nightmare
by Imperfected
Summary: After Sherlock's 'death', John finds it hard to cope, and as he replays memories, he comes to one final decision. Johnlock Oneshot. May be triggering for some readers.


**A/N: This took me about 20 minutes to write, so sorry if it's a bit shit. This took place a month after Sherlocks "death". The ending... You can make up what happened. Although what happens is probably obvious, but if you don't want it to be sad then you can change it :) You will understand what I mean when you finish reading.  
So yeah, ****PLEASE**** review! **

"Hand in hand, we ran, as far as we could go," John chuckled, "He said that I was his hostage, just so we could get away. He pointed a gun to my head but I knew he wouldn't pull the trigger. I trusted him completely." He looked down to the ground and buried his face in his hands, "I didn't... I didn't know what was going to happen..."

"You have been terribly brave, John. I can't imagine what it's been like for you. Now, you have to tell me what you wished you'd said to him - You need to get it out of your system. It'll make you feel better-"

"And then that idiotic Moriarty with his foolish plans," He interrupted his therapist, laughing in disbelief, "He tricked everyone in to believing Sherlock was a fake - A fraud. But no, not me, never me. I was loyal. I respected Sherlock and cared for him - Probably more than I should've."

He sighed. It's been a month since the death of his best friend and he was finally coming to terms with it. He missed the genius dearly and would do anything to get him back.

"You're right, I need to tell someone what I should've said," He took a deep breath before continuing, "Sherlock was my... He was my best friend, the one I trusted and looked up to. Every day he amazed me, he inspired me, he helped me in so many ways. He made me better. I wish I told him that, I wish I told him how much he meant to me. I wish I told him... That I loved him. Really, really loved him. I wish I told him how everyday I would wait for him to smile, wait to see that shining, glistening lust in his eyes. It was rare, but when it happened... My stomach did back flips and my breathing would go rough, his smile was so powerful, so heart warming it sent tingles down my spine and I couldn't think. I always believed I was heterosexual, until I met this man. Even then I tried to deny it, but the chemistry was just too strong. I knew I needed him, even if he was annoying. I regret the mistake I made, not telling him how I really felt." The man took in another deep breath and held it in for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 seconds, before exhaling and continuing with his story, "Before he... You know... Jumped... He told me he was a fraud. He told me to tell everyone I knew. I still don't know why he did this, but Sherlock does complicated things sometimes and yes, it's irritating but everything he does is for a reason, even if you don't understand that reason. My guess is Moriarty, I don't know what he did, but I swear to God-" He took in another breath, slightly shaking, trying to control his anger. "-If I ever see that bitch, I will kill him."

His therapist put down her notebook and pen and leaned forward to face the trembling man, "That isn't a healthy thought, John. Lets think of some alternatives,"

But John wasn't listening - No. He was too busy thinking about how much he loathed the world and its cruelness.

"-I need you to do me a favor. Tell everyone that Sherlock Holmes was the most amazing - And only - Consulting detective in the world. Tell them how much he inspires you, tell them that he's not a fake. Tell them he was real and they should believe in him." John closed his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts before standing up, "I have to be somewhere." He muttered unapologetically and shuffled out of the intimidating room and out into the drizzling streets. He went to call for a cab, but it just reminded him of the time when he and Sherlock took separate taxi's and he then found Sherlock standing over a dead body. He shivered, please, no flashbacks. Not today.

As John returned home to 221b Baker street, he made sure that Mrs Hudson was out before gathering his belongings, a couple of pills and a rope. As he tied the rope up to ceiling, he remembered the time Sherlock had put that mannequin of some sort hanging from the same position.

"I'll be with you soon, Sherlock. Maybe then I can tell you how much you mean to me," He sniffed, a tear falling from his eyes. "I visited your gave every day for a month, just hoping that you'd return. I finally get it, you're not coming back, so I'll go to you. That's what I always did, when you needed me, I was there. I knew you'd return the favor when I needed it." He made a faint smile underneath his now almost uncontrollable tears. He made sure the rope was tight and took the pills, swallowing five at a time. He got a stall from one of the cupboards and placed it directly underneath the rope. He stood up, wrapping it slowly around his neck. "This is for you," He whispered, before kicking the stool beneath his feet.

He choked and screamed and cried, squirming away from the tightening rope but he knew it would make it worse.

He heard a loud banging sound from behind him, his vision got blurry, his breathing was stopping, the tears kept coming. What was that? A man? He could just about make out a mop of brown curly hair and lost piercing blue-grey eyes. He knew that hair, he knew those eyes. The eyes of the man he lusted for, the man he loved. His vision blacked out, his breathing slowed down... "Sher-" He choked, his face burning red and his neck bleeding crimson.


End file.
